Second Chance Baby (Crescent Cove #18)

Chapter 6

SIX

On the way home, Bridget asked me to stop by the hotel so she could change into different clothes. Rather than suggesting she bring all her stuff back with her, I just did as she asked and let the subject alone. Maybe she’d feel better having an “escape” as it were. I had no fucking clue.

I also had no idea what we were doing. But it felt amazing, so I wasn’t going to rock the boat. At least not yet.

Granted, I wasn’t a guy prone to self-examination on any level, but even I could acknowledge mistakes had been made on both sides years ago. Mostly from not indulging in much conversation about our feelings.

Or basically any beside the standard endearments.

At least that was my current best guess how we’d started going so wrong.

Even my stalwart, so-in-love parents were now going to couples’ therapy. If they could need help, we could too. I wasn’t a guy who wanted to explore my emotions, but maybe Bridget would.

If Bridget seemed like she might be on board with such a thing, I’d get the name of their therapist from my mom. And if it would mean I could be with Bridget again, I’d do it.

I’d do anything just for a chance to try to patch my family back together.

The minute Bridget climbed out at The Sherman Inn, promising to be quick, Carrington unclicked her seatbelt and leaned forward between the seats. “Are you okay with this, Dad?”

I could hear the indecision in her tone, as if she was worried I couldn’t handle hanging out with her mom this way. Of course, she had no idea how the rest of the day had gone, so no wonder she was unsure.

Or maybe somehow she’d figured out more than I was giving her credit for. She was a damn smart kid. And very empathetic to boot.

“I’m okay, Care Bear. Thanks for worrying about your old man. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to. Not with your mom.”

“Are you sure? I know things have been…hard there.”

To be honest, they’d been a lot harder than I’d ever owned up to, even to myself.

Not thinking about the situation more than I absolutely had to had been the only way I could tolerate how we’d left things between us.

Until I’d gotten drunk during Christian’s engagement party and my lips had loosened, leading me to confide in my mom.

Though immediately afterward, we’d both pretended the conversation had never happened. More me than her, truthfully. She still asked the occasional probing question I did my best to avoid answering.

Did you ever try making an overture to Bridget?

Overture like what?

Maybe say, Hey, I miss you, I want you back. Let’s fix whatever went wrong. I’ll do anything.

I’d waved that off, though the idea now had more merit. But the idea of having sex with her to build a bridge had never occurred to me.

Mainly because hey, wasn’t I the wronged party? Shouldn’t the onus to make an overture be on her side?

But she’d mentioned wanting to do the shoot. And besides, who cared who was more to blame?

I didn’t want to be alone any longer. End of story.

My daughter cleared her throat. “Daddy?”

“Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “It’s rough when things don’t work out with someone you love. That’s very hard. But we always tried our best to put you first.”

“You always did,” she said hurriedly.

“I know I worked a lot and missed out on some stuff I shouldn’t have. Like I didn’t make as much of a fuss about holidays as I should have. And now and then, I had to miss a school play or something?—”

“You were always here when I needed you.”

“Was I?” I asked uncertainly. “You can tell me the truth there. If you ever need to talk or have questions, you can always let me know. You know that, right?”

“I know, Dad. Trust me, I know.”

“Are you sure? Don’t hesitate to tell me if?—”

“Daddy, I know.” She strung out the words to about five more syllables than they actually had. “I was worried about you. Not me. I’m good here. I have like four dads with Uncle Murphy and Uncle Christian and even Uncle Penn, though he doesn’t live here. Then I have Gams and Pop too. I’m not lacking on the parental score, trust me. Mom is just a fun bonus. I’ve missed her,” she added quietly.

“I have too,” I admitted.

“See, I knew it! You never go on dates or anything and you’re not that old.”

I had to laugh. “Thanks, kid. I think.”

“I’m just saying. You barely even have friends to do stuff with. I’m, like, the center of your universe, and that’s not healthy.”

Jeez, was my mom encouraging my kid to look into therapy too? She was starting to sound far too wise.

“Again, thanks for looking out for me, but I’m okay. I actually talked to John Gideon today. I might do some work with him for a while here and there.”

“Like Uncle Murphy?”

“Yeah. Like Uncle Murphy. Though he’s busier doing his programming stuff than construction these days.”

“He has a balanced life.”

Yep, she definitely sounded as if she was trying out to be a therapist. Not that she was wrong. It was just difficult to take advice from your ten-year-old kid.

Especially considering she knew so much more than I did about life.

Maybe I needed to put a priority on signing up for this therapy stuff. Not sure I had any time to waste.

Bridget ran down the steps outside of The Sherman, jogging over to the truck in her jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. Her blond hair was in a high ponytail and her face was makeup free. If I didn’t know better, I could pretend she was still in high school.

And maybe I could pretend to be still there too.

But then she slipped into the truck and tilted her head so the sun shined over her face as she put on her sunglasses and set her purse beside her feet. In that moment, she looked just like a mom.

My kid’s mom.

“Did you decide what snacks we’re gonna get?” Bridget asked brightly, picking up her purse to clutch it in her lap.

“Popcorn because Dad emptied us out. And maybe some Raisinets and M&Ms and some gummy worms. Oh, and we need more ice cream too.”

“That all sounds good. I shouldn’t be ready for all of that after the feast we just had, and yet I’m onboard. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a movie.”

“Oh, jeez. You’re just like him.” Carrington flopped back against her seat and clicked her belt back into place.

Bridget shot me a sidelong glance. “What do you mean?”

“He has no life but work, and you sound exactly the same.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I have no life…” She trailed off and chewed on her fingernail. “Okay, yeah, I pretty much would. To be honest, I had time to read all of Penn’s series. I just thought it would make me sound lame that I binged it when I found it.”

“That you sucked down every single page of my brother’s long-ass series? Nooo.” Grinning, I started the truck. “Let’s go get some delicious junk food so we can watch a slew of spooky movies. Hopefully, ones with no traumatizing gore.”

“Are you worried about getting too scared, Dad?” Carrington’s giggles were a soothing sound I hadn’t realized I missed hearing.

Most of the time, she seemed happy enough, but there was no denying her mother’s presence was a good influence on her. And me too, I had to admit. I’d already smiled and laughed more today than I had in months.

Bridget seemed to be enjoying herself with us too. I’d caught her smiling at both of us when she might not have realized we were paying attention, and then she’d hurriedly looked away as if she was concerned about getting caught.

I drove us to the biggest, newest supermarket in the area, thinking maybe Bridget would like to check out something new here. I couldn’t keep from grinning as I pushed the cart down the aisles while Carrington chattered happily, suggesting we try this new kind of spicy chips, and oh, hey, maybe we could make this cheesy dip to go with our snacks?

Then Bridget suggested we get some fresh jalape?os to add an extra kick to our cheesy dip, so we had to search out the best ones along with some colorful peppers to make it more fun. All of that went into the cart too.

The trip down the candy aisle was truly mind-blowing. Carrington found more kinds of candy than I even knew existed, and between her and her mother, they needed every single one.

I couldn’t resist adding some of my own choices for them to try, from all sorts of nuts to a bunch of different gummy creations. Then I insisted on hitting the frozen section to grab some ice cream and a couple of gourmet pizzas we could have as meals or snacks, depending.

On the way out, I grabbed a rotisserie chicken, figuring what we didn’t eat could be sliced up for Carrington’s school lunches this week.

“Oh, lunch stuff,” Bridget commented, grabbing a huge box of mini bags of chips.

I already had stuff like that at home, but some of these were different flavors. And hey, perhaps Bridget was feeling domestic. If she was, I certainly wasn’t going to discourage her. She hadn’t gotten to be a regular mom nearly enough.

We checked out and headed to the truck to cram in all of our packages in the back. Carrington helped too, dancing around her mother as if suddenly grocery shopping was the most fun thing to do ever. She’d certainly never acted that way before but going shopping with her old man definitely wasn’t as entertaining as going with her mom too, who kept cracking us up with stories about shopping in Manhattan and all the eccentric people who lived in her building. Some of them snacked on some stuff that seemed completely weird.

Like shredded wheat pocket thingys filled with fruit? I knew food was a personal choice, but my mom liked shredded wheat, and I just would never understand consuming bowls of that shredded, lumpy-looking cereal doused in milk as a snack.

Took all kinds, I supposed.

“Gams and Pop love shredded wheat,” Carrington said as she climbed in the back. “Not with fruit though.” She snapped her belt into place.

“It’s actually a pretty healthy thing to eat,” Bridget said, thanking me as I held open her passenger door. “I nosh on that when I’m reading before bed. Has a bit fewer calories than all that goodness you grabbed for us in the candy aisle.”

“Yeah, but it tastes like cardboard.”

“Yet it’s much better for my ass,” she said under her breath, letting out a laugh as I surreptitiously patted her behind as she climbed in.

“It’s perfect just like the rest of you, Brig.” I shut her door.

I circled the truck to the driver’s side and bumped up the sound system so Carrington could sing along as she sometimes liked to do. It took a few songs for her to join in, and then Bridget did too, leaving me feeling like the lame third wheel until I decided to try my best to not have them show me up.

I wasn’t a great singer, but at least I was enthusiastic. The next thing I knew, we were all trying to outdo each other, singing unabashedly and even gesturing as if we were on stage—well, that was just Carrington. Bridget soon dissolved into laughter, and I used the distraction to reach over and lace my fingers with hers.

Carrington didn’t miss a beat.

On the way home, we passed probably half a dozen ornately decorated homes covered in lights. Giant blow-up creatures danced on lawns and one of them was even blasting Michael Jackson’s Thriller from unseen speakers.

“Oh, Daddy, we gotta do that! We have to have music with our decorations.”

“ Thriller ?”

“No, it doesn’t have to be that. What’s that Nightmare song from a million years ago? We could use that one. You know, so older peeps have some representation too.”

I met her gaze in the rearview. “I have not one clue what song you mean.” I glanced at Bridget, circling my thumb over her palm. “Any idea?”

“I think I might. Is it this one, Carrington?” With her free hand, she did something on her phone—not letting me go even for a second—and a moment later, an old school Halloween song piped out of my speakers. “Yay, Bluetooth,” she mumbled.

“Yes, that’s it, Mom. Nightmare on Elm Street. Super old, right?”

Bridget laughed. “Not that old, but old enough, I guess. Sure, we can play that for our Halloween scene.” Then Bridget added in an undertone to me, “Can we?”

“Of course. We’ll figure it out, Brig.” I lifted her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles, as I’d used to do a million times a day without thinking. Then I lowered her hand to my thigh, cupping it against my leg while I circled the block to where more houses were festooned with more Halloween creatures and tons of blinking lights. “Oh, Care, see that there? That looks kinda like the Gideons’ spider.”

“Yeah. And that web goes over almost their entire lawn. I mean, spiders are kind of done , but we will figure out something equally wow for ours, right?”

“We sure will,” Bridget said before I could answer.

Good. She could help finding the wow items then, because my own seemed to be on vacation.

“But first, we will watch all the Halloween movies,” I added, hoping I’d soon be blessed with some inspiration to excite my kid.

I headed home, zooming into our long driveway a little too fast, clipping the currently overgrown hedge.

Bridget laughed. “I always did that with that stupid bush.”

“Easy to do when Dad never cuts it back,” Carrington chimed in.

I was still trying to figure out why spiders were done. John’s was so cool, at least to me.

“Hey, hey, I’ve been busy.”

“Miss Kelly has been coming over to trim our trees where they hang over her lawn.”

I let out a big sigh. “I’ll catch up with it soon. I’ll have to, if we are going to cover the entire yard with every Halloween decoration we can find.”

“Or I can do it,” Bridget said, flexing her arm. “I work out a lot more than I used to. Let me at the power tools.”

“Oh, yeah? I mean, it’s normally my job but if you really want to, why not?”

“Sharing the jobs is how it should go, right?” Before I could answer, she waited until I’d parked and hopped out of the truck. “Show me where to find the tools, and I’ll get started before it gets all the way dark.”

I frowned, oddly unsettled. Was she not happy with how the property looked? Or was she really just trying to help?

Hell, maybe I should just let her do what she wanted to do and not overthink any of it.

I hit the garage door button on my fob, and the door rolled upward, revealing the walls of tools. Many, many tools that I hadn’t made much use of in far too long. “There you go. Want me to run through how to use any of them?”

“Nope. You forget I used to do this stuff years ago right after we got the house.”

That was true. Early on, she’d shown a definite aptitude and affinity for lawn work. She’d loved being outside, especially when it was nice in the fall, and our funds had been on the lower side at the beginning, so we’d definitely appreciated anything we didn’t have to hire out for.

“I’ll get started now before we lose the last of the light. Then I’ll meet you both inside for spooky movie night.”

I stared after her as she ran into the garage to select a couple tools. I felt as if I was standing in the past, watching the girl I loved set to work on our first home.

Maybe it would end up being our forever home too. There were definitely extra bedrooms if we needed them.

Getting ahead of yourself, dude.

“She’s good at that stuff, Dad?”

“Yeah, she is. Really good.” I started unloading stuff from the back and carted in the first few bags. “Don’t forget the ice cream bag. Don’t want it to melt out here,” I called, heading up the walk and inside to dump everything on the kitchen counters.

Carrington followed, carting a few bags, which she immediately started unloading and putting the stuff away. “Do you think she’ll, like, spend the night?”

There was a thorny question I didn’t have an answer to. Even if I did, I didn’t think it was the best conversation to have with my kid.

“If she wants to, she’ll be welcome here. But I’m leaving all the balls in her court.”

“Yeah. That’s good. You know, so not to pressure her.”

I frowned, absorbing her words. Maybe she had a point. At least she was a female, so that already meant she knew more than I did. “Yeah. We can let her know she’s wanted, but the decision is solely up to her.”

“That’s a good plan.” She surprised me by rubbing my arm. “Daddy, you’re a good catch. Everyone says so.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Is that so? I’m almost afraid to ask who.”

“Just you know people in my class and their moms. You’re considered a DILF.” She did air quotes around the acronym, and I didn’t ask her to explain it, because unfortunately, I knew all too well what that meant. I wasn’t very pleased that she knew what it meant, however.

Then again, I was still stuck on her seeing scary movies I hadn’t even known about.

“Am I just hopelessly behind?” I muttered, putting more of the things we’d purchased away by rote.

Peanuts and chips and endless gummy snacks were stacked in the cupboards. The jug of milk to go with the roll of cookie dough I’d picked up on impulse both went into the fridge. The ice cream carton I found room for in the freezer.

Then I looked back to see the room was now empty, though I could hear the buzz of the power clipper outside clear as day. Reminding me this situation was now very different than any we’d ever experienced before as a family.

I took the rotisserie chicken out and started carving off pieces for Carrington’s lunch, building her a couple quick sandwiches that I then put in her reusable lunch sack along with a couple mini snack bags. Pretzels and Doritos and a banana, the last one we had left.

Next shopping trip, I’d have to replenish fruits and cereal and other basics we were low on.

Couldn’t live by junk food alone, unfortunately.

To give myself something to do, I quickly whipped up the cheesy dip we’d bought and chopped up the peppers we’d selected to add to it. Once the dip was made, I put it in the center of our chip platter and ripped open bags of snacks to arrange around the dip. I carried the platter into the living room, setting it on the low coffee table before I grabbed some extra throws out of the storage ottoman and dumped them on the end of the couch.

I rolled my shoulders, currently tight with tension, and camped out on the couch, grabbing the remote to cue up Scream 1 and 2. I sat at the end of the couch so I could kick out the recliner and dipped back my head, closing my eyes as I drifted to the sound of power machinery.

Maybe I shouldn’t have let Bridget go to town on the bushes while I dealt with the snacks, but she’d wanted to and I kinda liked the throwback to the past.

Happier days when our future had seemed so certain. So sure. Of course, there would be curveballs, but we’d face them together.

I fucking hoped.

Bridget’s warm bourbon vanilla scent curled around me the next time I opened my eyes. She must’ve spritzed on some more in the hotel because it had faded since earlier in the day. Now it was vividly delicious, and she was sitting with her knees drawn up, her head resting on my shoulder as she aimed the remote at the TV to turn up the volume.

Scream was playing, and Carrington was sitting on the other end of the couch, scanning her phone while Sydney knocked out Gail Weathers.

Deservedly so, to my mind. Damn reporters.

“Whoa, did I fall asleep?”

“You did.” Bridget patted my stomach. “You obviously needed it. The bags under your eyes are multiplying as we speak.”

“Hey, Care said I’m known as a DILF so I can’t be that bad.” Hearing myself, I shook my head dazedly. “Sorry, I need to shut up until I fully wake up.”

“Nah, you’re a cute DILF.” The twinkle in her summery blue eyes made me laugh. “Didn’t you just come back from back-to-back shoots? First, in Alaska then in the city?”

I started to agree, and then I cocked my head. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“I have my ways.” She paused, not elaborating as Carrington mumbled about having to pee and not wanting to miss the “good parts” before she darted out of the room.

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know someone all-knowing?”

“Yes, your mom.” Bridget inhaled sharply. “I may have used her to check in on you now and then. Just for curiosity’s sake.”

“What? You did what?”

How long had this been going on and had the timing coincided at all with my drunken confessions?

“I just wanted to make sure you were good. And that Care was good. So, yeah, I was nosy now and then. And I may have volunteered myself up for the calendar shoot when I heard there was an issue with the model you shot with before. Maybe.” She lifted her hand to her mouth and nibbled her pinky nail. “Surprise?”